


Blood Brothers

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Episode: s05e13 Revelation 6:8, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during "Comes A Horsemen" and continues through "Revelation 6:8," this is my own slant on what we saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 1997 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.
> 
> Thanks to Ann, Laurie, Isilwath, Meg, and Sue for all your help. Special thanks to Hanna for help with the ending. On this one, it looks like I needed it more than usual.

Hazy memories drifted in and out as he fought his way back to life. Images of desert plains, tents, and fire swam through his mind as he jerked awake. Air tried to rush into his lungs, but blood bubbled up instead, causing him to choke. Unthinking, he swallowed; the sharp, bitter taste instantly taking him back thousands of years. Back to a time when he liked the taste of blood; the feel of it slick on his hands, the smell of it sharp in his nose. Moaning softly, he started to cough, dragging more blood from his lungs in the process. It all started to come back to him...the parking lot...the Buzz...Kronos.

"Well, well. This looks familiar."

That voice. Methos kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see his brother's face just yet. Over one thousand years' worth of memories flooded through him, unstoppable. The past two thousand years vanished, leaving the screams of their victims, the smell of burned villages, their battle cries. The sound of horses pounding across the desert. The taste of a woman; of her sweat and blood and fear. The power of being a god. Unstoppable. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Unrepentant. Methos started to breath raggedly, the temptation arousing him, but his lungs still held blood, and he choked again.

Kronos hovered over Methos, grinning. "Problems, brother?" he asked knowingly, his eyes drifting down Methos' body, stopping when they reached his groin. Kronos' hand reached out and covered Methos' thigh, just brushing his cock.

Methos' eyes flew open, staring directly up into Kronos' face. Still hard, still uncaring, still full of desire. Methos turned his head away, closing his eyes again. "Nice greeting," he commented, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

"I always did have a flair for the dramatic," Kronos reminded him, running his nails along Methos' inner thigh. A muscle twitched in Methos' leg, but he made no move to stop his brother. Kronos increased the pressure, moving his hand closer to Methos' cock, now showing signs of life. "I see you haven't lost your feel for it either," Kronos remarked sardonically.

At that, Methos rolled over, away from Kronos' touch. "No," he whispered hoarsely. Kronos' hand pulled him back, pushing against his still-healing chest. He let out a strangled groan at the pressure.

Kronos glared down at Methos, a knife in his hand, shining with blood. Methos' blood. "Perhaps you _have_ lost your feel for it, brother. Pity." Before Methos could speak, Kronos drove the knife into Methos' stomach.

"Kronos," Methos gasped, trying to reach his brother. His hand clawed at Kronos' jacket, tugging him closer. Wrapping his hand over Kronos' on the knife handle, Methos pulled it from his stomach, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, controlling his feelings. As his face settled into an unemotional mask, he released the knife. "I have not forgotten anything, brother," he rasped as his head hit the floor, and the life drained from him again.

Kronos allowed himself to smile. "I can see that," he murmured, his eyes lit with anticipation of when Methos awoke.

~~~~~~~

Methos woke up with Kronos hovering over him again, and felt trapped. It was not a pleasant emotion, but one he was all too familiar with. Trapped by his desire for Kronos, even after the sex turned too rough for even him. Trapped by the power of the Horsemen. Trapped by his own lustful needs.

Now, however, instead of the control he was used to feeling, he felt fear. Kronos was right; he had gone soft -- in more ways than one. He had let his manipulative skills fade, though they were still sharper than the average man or Immortal. He had let Kronos get the best of him; to control their meeting, from the very first second until now. It was an elaborate plan, worthy of something he himself might have thought up in the old days. And he had walked right into it.

"I have some business to attend to," Kronos' voice interrupted his thoughts. Kronos sneered down at his brother, patting him firmly on his chest. "But I'll be back."

He watched Kronos saunter down the short flight of stairs and felt him leave his Buzz range. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

 _Old man, you need to get control_ , Methos chastised himself. Kronos had left him alone for the time being. But he had no doubts that Kronos would keep his promise and return, this time demanding answers. He just hoped he didn't demand anything else...

 

> Kronos' right hand slid down Methos' body, though Methos barely felt it. His leather armor was too thick, but as Kronos moved lower, Methos' breathing grew shallower.
> 
> "Is there something you desire, brother?" Methos asked as casually as he could with Kronos' hands touching him.
> 
> "Of course, my brother. Would you care for me to show you?" Kronos' voice dropped to a whisper while his hand continued its downward course. Kronos' hips were moving of their own volition, his own need finally overpowering his senses.
> 
> Methos reached up with his right hand and grabbed Kronos' left, gripping it tightly. "Do not start something you cannot finish," he hissed, arching his head back against Kronos' shoulder.
> 
> A long minute passed, with Kronos' hand resting at Methos' abdomen, just above his erection, and Methos waiting, anticipating.
> 
> "I always finish what I start," Kronos reminded Methos, grabbing Methos' cock through his pants, already damp with Methos' precum. "Unless it suits me otherwise."
> 
> Methos jerked in Kronos' arms, a strangled groan catching in his throat.
> 
> "You like that, don't you?" Kronos asked knowingly, biting just behind Methos' ear.
> 
> Methos swallowed another moan, unwilling to give Kronos the satisfaction of an answer. Methos kept silent, though his body said more than any words he could utter...

Methos shook himself from his memories. They could not help him now, only make his job all the harder.  _Harder. Old man, if you got any harder, you'd explode_. He swallowed the bile in his throat, willing his heart to steady itself. Two thousand years had passed, and his body still had the same reaction to Kronos.

"Methos."

Kronos' voice snapped Methos out of his thoughts. "What?" Methos asked sharply, turning to face his brother.

Kronos had the same calm, maniacal look in his eye, one Methos had seen thousands of times. Through countless raids, through the centuries, the light shining from Kronos' eyes had never wavered. Controlled madness. Calculating sadism. A contradiction staring him in the face. "You were thinking about the old days, weren't you?" Kronos' voice seemed to be calling to Methos, guiding him down to his tent, pushing him to the furs, demanding the offering of Methos' body. "Were they pleasant memories of me? I know you haven't forgotten our times together, brother..."

 

> "You like that, don't you?" Kronos asked knowingly, biting just behind Methos' ear.
> 
> Methos swallowed another moan, unwilling to give Kronos the satisfaction of an answer. Methos kept silent, though his body said more than any words he could utter.
> 
> As close as Kronos was, Methos could feel Kronos' sex thrusting against his ass, and it sent another wave of desire through him. "Yes," Methos hissed, surrendering himself to Kronos...

"No, I have not forgotten," Methos replied softly, lowering his eyes to the floor. He didn't trust himself to look at Kronos.

Kronos grabbed Methos' chin and forced his head up. "I didn't hear you, brother." His voice was soft, full of sarcasm, with an underlying current of possessiveness that made Methos' blood run cold.

Methos had no choice but to look Kronos in the eye. "I have not forgotten," he repeated, swallowing hard. The ache between his legs was growing insistent, and he tried desperately not to let on to Kronos. But he should have known better. Kronos missed nothing.

Kronos' gaze shifted from Methos' face to his jeans, a knowing smile curling his lips. "Aha," he murmured, his eyes lighting up. He pushed Methos' head back with one hand, while the other went to his jeans, clawing at the burgeoning erection. "I can see that, brother," he whispered approvingly, digging his fingers into Methos' jaw.

Methos' entire body twitched, and he fought back a moan as Kronos worked at him, one hand giving pleasure, one drawing blood. Kronos pushed him onto his back, straddling his legs. "Tell me Methos, have you missed this?"

Methos muttered, "Yes," through clenched teeth, barely feeling the pain of his own fingernails digging into his palms in an effort to exercise some control over his body. But the pain only added to his body's stimulation, and involuntarily, his back arched and his eyes partially closed.

Kronos watched the change fall over Methos' face, and grinned. His hand shifted to Methos' throat. "I think you are lying. You always did lie," he mused, not seeming to care. He started to squeeze Methos' throat gently, even as his other hand freed Methos' erection, pumping it with an uneven rhythm.

Arching his neck, exposing it more to Kronos' hand, Methos thrust mindlessly, wordless sounds being wrung from him at each squeeze of Kronos' hand. The world started to turn black, and he couldn't stop the panic from welling up inside him. He had died this way many times before; he knew the exact moment he would lose consciousness. This time, it was different. This time, he couldn't be sure Kronos wouldn't take his head while he was dead. He gasped for air, struggling earnestly against Kronos now as he continued thrusting into his hand, his hips moving independent of his brain. Dimly, he heard Kronos' laugh in his ear, felt the hot desert breeze caress his neck. Too soon, not soon enough, he exploded into Kronos' hand, his climax wrenching a sob from him, then another.

Kronos loosened his hold on Methos, but did not get off his body. Methos took great gulps of air, the color slowly returning to his face. He didn't attempt to get up, in fact, made no move save to stare up at Kronos, his face a mix of pain, lust, fear and anguish.

Kronos' face betrayed nothing as he freed his own engorged cock, stroking it firmly for a minute. Leaning down over his face, Kronos hissed, "Do not lie to me again, Methos. Or I will remind you what real pain is." Shoving his knee between his legs, Kronos began thrusting against him, taking savage bites out of his neck in time to his movements. Methos stifled his screams, but could not stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes as Kronos reveled in the taste of his brother's blood. With a low growl, Kronos climaxed, throwing all his weight onto him. Barely panting, Kronos pushed off of him, sneering down at him. "You always were a good fuck, brother," he complimented him, slapping his thigh.

Kronos left him on the floor, covered in their semen, to contemplate how difficult his wanted to make his assimilation back into Kronos' life.

~~~~~~

Methos abused the engine on his 4x4, racing through the streets to get to the dojo. He had wasted precious minutes finding a change of clothes in the back, but he couldn't very well walk through the streets with sex-soaked jeans. He shifted the Blazer into second, racing through a red light. Something was urging him on, some sixth sense that told him his time was running out. He shook his head, concentrating on the road before him.

He had to get MacLeod out of town; out of the line of fire. And then  _he_ had to get out of town, fast. His first encounter with Kronos was only the beginning. The man would use him any way he could, for as long as he could. Methos' knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he fought to remain calm.

As he waited impatiently at a red light, the impact of what he was about to do hit him, and his hands started to shake. He could not face MacLeod in this condition. He needed time to gather his scattered wits, to fall back and take assessment of what had happened. Right now, he was flying blind, reacting to circumstances that Kronos had set in motion. Somehow, he had to get control back.

He braked to a halt outside the dojo, leaving the keys in the ignition. He paused with his hand on the car door handle, taking a deep breath, reminding himself that Kronos did not always have complete control. They had been equals for nearly four hundred years. They fought and struggled for control, neither winning for very long. The winning hadn't even been the most important thing. It was the struggle that they lived for. Constantly trying to outwit their partner, trying to get the upper hand. It had been a mind-trip.

His nerves somewhat steady, Methos stepped out of the Blazer, looking up at the loft above the dojo. "Be here, MacLeod," he pleaded softly, walking quickly towards the entrance. The Buzz filled him then, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But that voice was there again, telling him his time was up, and he froze.

He could hear Kronos' voice taunting him from their past, "Give up Methos. Surrender. You know you can't win, my brother. I will always be the strongest. I will always be in control of you. Never forget that."

His nerves once again on edge, Methos pulled open the dojo door and went to face MacLeod. Somehow, he had to explain enough to convince MacLeod to leave town, while keeping the truth from him. MacLeod could not know what Methos had been. It would only make things worse. And Methos didn't need for things to get worse.

MacLeod came out of the office. "Methos."

He tried to make light of it, but he couldn't. "I was worried about you, MacLeod. Glad you made it." Especially now that he knew who the Highlander had almost went up against.

"Yeah, me too."

Methos gathered his courage and started to explain, "Something," he choked on the word, "...unexpected has come up..."

MacLeod interrupted him, oblivious to Methos' current state of near-panic. "Yeah, tell me about it. Listen, have you ever heard of an Immortal named Kronos?"

His blood ran cold, and he choked on the word. "Kronos?" A hesitation. Just the briefest pause, but it was enough. Another Buzz filled their senses, and wide-eyed, Methos tried to pinpoint where the Buzz was coming from .

The lift door rolled up, and another vision from Methos' past came into view. He stared openly at her, not quite believing she was still alive.

"Who's this?" When in doubt, lie. He had no idea what Cassandra was to MacLeod, but the fact that she had a key to his lift said a great deal. She  _knew_ MacLeod. And she knew what he had been.

He took refuge behind MacLeod, his mind searching furiously for a way out of this situation. "You don't know me." He stared pointedly at Cassandra, hoping she would remember what he had done for her. Obviously, she didn't, or she didn't see it the way he had.

Her voice was pure venom as she spat, "Do you think I could _ever_ forget you?"

She proceeded to tell MacLeod exactly what Methos had been. One of the Four Horsemen. A rapist. A killer. And her own personal hell. He felt his entire world shattering around him. Cassandra destroyed his world, as he and the Horsemen had destroyed hers.

Running back to the Blazer, Methos jumped in and gunned the engine, throwing it into gear and tearing into the street, not looking back. His thoughts chased themselves around and around in his head as he drove aimlessly. Kronos knew exactly what he was doing when he left Methos alone earlier. Kronos knew he would go straight to MacLeod, either to ask for help, or to convince him to leave town. The fact that Cassandra was there was either an amazing coincidence, or Kronos knew she was staying with MacLeod. Cassandra would tell MacLeod everything she knew of the Horsemen, of Methos, and what he used to be. MacLeod would reject him on principle, Methos was sure of that.

All his thoughts merged, and he pulled onto a side street, jerking the Blazer into park. He sat trembling, unable to stop.

Kronos knew exactly how important MacLeod was to Methos. He was now a target.

Methos felt tears pricking his eyes. "Highlander, what have I done?"

~~~~~~~

Gods the temptation was so great! Methos wanted to let go. Just...let himself go. Become the man Kronos wanted him to be. It would be so much easier. All he had to do was feel it.

"Feel it." Kronos tempted, echoing Methos' thoughts.

It was too close to the surface. He couldn't keep it at bay, not with Kronos constantly battling against the man he had become. He was too powerful. The Horseman was too powerful.

"Swear you will kill Duncan MacLeod."

Methos' ragged breathing stopped, and his gaze fell to Kronos' hands, where he was slicing his own palm open. The blood oath. Their bond. But it didn't feel right this time. Over the centuries, it had become a concept foreign to his nature. But, Kronos expected it, so he must do it.

He took the knife and sliced his hand, clasping Kronos' blood-filled palm. "I swear," he promised, sealing the oath in blood. He met Kronos' gaze unflinchingly, the unspoken words not needed. He took one step forward, and brought his lips to Kronos' in a brutal kiss, completing their pact.

Kronos grabbed Methos' head, forcing his mouth open as he stole inside. When they grew dizzy from lack of air, Kronos released him. "Now our pact is sealed. You will serve me again, Methos," he announced, smiling with unholy satisfaction

Unwilling to trust his voice, Methos nodded solemnly in submission.

~~~~~

**Days later in Bordeaux**

The Four Horsemen ride again. Methos wasn't surprised at the coldness that seeped into his bones at that thought. He had sworn to himself that it would never happen again. And now, he was sitting in their midst, planning their takeover of the world.

His own survival was his first priority. He would do whatever was necessary to live, just as he always had. But he held no illusions. Some would have to be sacrificed to save the whole. The doctor had been a loss, but not a great one. Methos hoped he would be the last, but somehow, he doubted it.

His thoughts drifted to his last sight of MacLeod. From the catwalk, he had watched Kronos and MacLeod's fight impassively, letting his instinct partially guide his movements. Dealing with Cassandra. Pouring the fuel. Tossing the Molotov bottles. Hitting the fire alarm. Not letting himself feel. Not since that day had he allowed himself to feel. He was utterly numb.

 

> "Did you kill all those people?"
> 
> "We're through."

Why had he been surprised at MacLeod's actions? He had intended to hurt with his words, strike at the very heart of the Highlander. And strike he had. Not just with words, but physically, actually throwing him against the truck. Getting right in MacLeod's face, laying everything in the open, so MacLeod would be forced to accept the truth. But he should have known better. Everything was still so black and white in MacLeod's world. There was no room for gray. And Methos was all gray. He had no edges left.

Even now, he felt nothing. Sitting in Kronos' version of Camelot, only the torchlight to read by, he refused to allow himself to feel. There would be time for that after. Now, feelings would only hinder him.

Caspian returned and nodded to him; it was his turn to watch Cassandra. Methos rose to his feet, returning the nod. He took a plate of food and walked to her cage, where she glared at him.

"Eat," he commanded, sliding the plate to her through the bars. She turned her head away. "Fine, don't eat. You'll starve to death, then we'll have our way with you. Makes no difference to me."

"I knew you hadn't changed."

Her scorn rankled him, but he stifled the feeling quickly. "If that's what you choose to believe, so be it. Would you like to go through this again? I assure you, I  _will_ get you to eat, either that food or..." Methos let his voice trail off menacingly, waiting for her reaction.

Cassandra's horror-filled eyes met his, then she turned her head away.

Methos crouched down, meeting her at eye level. "Which will it be?" He was starting to open the cage when she scampered to the plate, taking a morsel and forcing herself to chew.

She kept her eyes on him as he watched her impassively, until she finished. Then she hurled the empty plate at him. "Satisfied?" she sneered.

Methos cocked his head at her, running his gaze over her body. "I always was," he replied, standing and returning to the side of the cage to wait for Silas to relieve him. He felt Cassandra's fear, and he tried very hard to ignore its siren song.

~~~~~

He never got to ask Kronos about the monkey. Why that thought in the middle of a hurricane, Methos would never know. As Silas' Quickening abused his body, he saw flashes of his brother, felt his love of the kill, saw through Silas' eyes how they all looked, woad on their faces, riding out of the sun...felt how truly connected Silas felt to them all, but to Methos the most. His brother. His friend. And his confusion at Methos' betrayal.

The tight control Methos had over his emotions started to fray as the Quickening continued, battering his body inside and out. Hot tears burned his eyes, and he finally allowed the dam to burst.

"I killed Silas! I liked Silas!'

The weight of Silas' death forced him to his knees, and he sobbed, letting out all the emotions he had locked inside of him since Kronos found him a little over a week ago. All the hurt, all the anger, all the frustration and fear he had carried with him for days bubbled inside of him, and he finally let it loose, allowing his control to snap. MacLeod. Cassandra. He felt intense relief and anguish toward both of them. He had saved them both, but at a great personal loss. Cassandra would never know what he endured when he let her escape, and he vowed then that she never would. She would never believe him anyway. MacLeod. Another sob wracked his body as he thought of his friend who could not see past the world in which he grew up. MacLeod would never understand what he had sacrificed for the Scot. Part of his past. Part of his soul.

Silas. Kronos. Caspian. He grieved for them all, for there had never been a band of men like them in all the world. They were all one of a kind. They were a part of him, as much as anyone had ever been. And Kronos, his blood brother. His lover for over five hundred years. Gone now to MacLeod. Another sob was torn from his soul as he felt the aftereffects of the Quickening burning through him. Methos dropped to the floor, letting the powerful feelings flow through him, assimilating them into his being. He would have Silas with him forever, now.

And MacLeod...

"Methos?"

He didn't move. He had heard MacLeod beg Cassandra to spare his life, but he was too heart-broken to care. If MacLeod had changed his mind, and now wanted him dead -- he would let him have his head. It would only be fair; to let the Four Horsemen live together again inside of the Highlander.

MacLeod repeated his soft inquiry. "Methos? Are you all right?"

All right? More tears fell from his swollen eyes, his body shuddering as the soft sounds of his grief escalated into full-blown hysterics. He rolled onto his back, able to see through the tears that MacLeod was standing over him. "All right? You ask if I'm all right!?" He broke down again, his body wracked by soul-tearing sobs. His chest was painfully tight as he struggled to catch a breath.

MacLeod stood in silence, unable to find words of comfort for Methos. MacLeod was shaking, the double Quickening having affected him as well, but Methos was oblivious to it.

"No, I am not all right!" he finally managed to gasp, sitting up and fixing his deadly gaze on MacLeod. "I just went against my own kind - again! Do you have any idea what it means that I went against my brothers?" He stood, advancing on MacLeod. "Do you know how I feel, knowing _I_ killed one of them?" He gulped back a sob. "I truly did like Silas. And Kronos had been my lover for five hundred years. The Horsemen were my  _family_. Do you know what that means?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the stillness of the base.

MacLeod blinked slowly, unable to answer. Tears were welling in his eyes, but again, Methos chose not to see them.

He wasn't really expecting an answer. Now that his emotions had been released, he intended to let the Highlander know exactly what was on his mind. "No, you don't, do you? You have no idea what it  _really_ means to kill a friend, a lover or a blood brother. They were part of who I was, Highlander. Part of my past, part of who I am today. If not for them, I..." Methos' voice cracked finally, and he stopped, shooting MacLeod a disgusted look.

Methos glanced around for his sword and picked it up, along with Silas' ax. He strode past MacLeod to the catwalk, to retrieve Kronos' blade. As he neared Kronos' body, he felt a coldness seize his heart. His other half was dead. Rightfully, he should be dead, too. If for nothing else, for breaking his blood oath to his brother. He picked up the sword and turned, bumping into MacLeod. He hadn't heard him move.

"Methos," Duncan began, but Methos brushed past him, walking down the ramp.

He paused on the bottom, but didn't turn around. "I'm fine, Highlander. I'm the survivor, remember? I'll survive." He kept walking, going back to the Round Table to retrieve Caspian's sword. At the table, he positioned the swords in their traditional setting.

He felt MacLeod's Buzz at the edge of his perceptions, but ignored him. He continued setting up, looking around for Kronos' dagger. Retrieving it from the floor, he knelt down beside the table, closing his eyes. He could hear MacLeod moving toward him, could sense that he wanted to say something, but spoke first.

"This is a private matter, MacLeod. Something I have to do by myself."

MacLeod coughed, then spoke quietly. "Methos, I need to understand. I want to understand. Please, let me stay."

The words were heartfelt. Methos sensed that as well. Fresh tears formed in his eyes, and he nodded. Licking the tears from his lips, he took a shaky breath and said, "Very well." For this last time, an outsider would be witness to this ritual. Maybe it would get through to MacLeod; help him to understand what he was talking about. If not, at least one other person in the world would know what the Horsemen were to each other.

Silent tears fell from his eyes as he recited their oath. "We are blood brothers. What we want, we take. What we have, we share. What we are, no one can understand. No one shall come between us, be they man or Immortal. We never raise a blade against one another," his voice cracked again, and he had to pause, getting his emotions back under control. He lifted his hand out over the table, then sliced his palm open, letting his blood drip into the square the four blades made. "We are blood brothers," he repeated, closing his eyes and bowing his head. "We will die for each other."

He started crying in earnest again, the impact of killing Silas overpowering. He leaned forward, resting his head on his arm, lying on the table as his whole body shook with renewed grief.

He didn't react as MacLeod came up beside him. The dagger was taken from his unresisting grip, and he thought this was the end. MacLeod would take his head and end his suffering. When the death-blow didn't come, he raised his head.

MacLeod was kneeling opposite of him, watching him intently. He raised the dagger and sliced open his palm, flinching as it bit into his skin. Duncan let the blood drip onto the center of the square, mingling with Methos'.

He blinked, astounded at MacLeod's gesture. Did Duncan realize what he had just done? Or did it have a different purpose for him? "MacLeod?" he called out softly, confusion making his voice sound lower than it normally was.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I swear to protect the Clan. And my friends." MacLeod placed the dagger on the table, wiping his hand on his jeans. MacLeod stood and stared at him, his eyes shining with tears. "You are my friend," Duncan choked out, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

He thought he couldn't possibly feel anything else, but somewhere, deep inside him, something released. Solace. Taking a shuddering breath, Methos nodded once, the peace he now felt soothing his weary soul.

He rose to his feet and collected the four swords, cradling them in his arms. Not looking back, he turned and left, not waiting to see if MacLeod would follow him. A part of his life was gone forever - not only were the bridges burned, but the places that they had led to were destroyed. But through the death of his past, Methos had found that he had a future, and that Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander, would be a part of it.

The End


End file.
